


Quid Pro Coffee

by wordhouse



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: M/M, pwp smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordhouse/pseuds/wordhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings are the bane of Rafael’s existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blithesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithesea/gifts).



Mornings are the bane of Rafael’s existence. He has two alarms. One across the room from his bed, on top of the armoire, so he doesn’t throw it at the wall or the floor or out the nearest window (it doesn’t always stop him, though). And his phone is right next to it, set with a dozen alarms of different sounds in five-minute intervals if the alarm clock doesn’t get him out of bed.

“Fuck,” he spits out and flails out at something to hit as the phone starts chirping. Already five minutes late. Or is it ten? The phone is trilling now. Ten minutes. Mornings should be illegal. Getting up before the sun is even out should be considered a health hazard and outlawed or at the very least highly regulated, like cigarettes and Big Gulps. He can imagine arguing the case all the way to the United States Supreme Court. For that special day, he shall wear his orange Armani tie, with the turquoise dots that are actually tiny flowers.

The phone starts doing scales. Well, fuck, damn, and fuck. After fighting off the warm, sleep-inducing snake of blankets and quilts, Rafael lurches to the bathroom. Where it’s still warm and sleep-inducing and the mirror and shower walls are fogged with steam. Someone is humming, off-key.

Rephrase that — morning people are the bane of his existence. When he is in charge, there will be a law. No morning people. No getting out of bed until ten in the morning. No more springing forward or falling back an hour, either, and while he’s at it, February will hath thirty days and like it. 

“Get out of my shower or I will shank you with a toothbrush,” he yells over the spray of water. At least that’s what he thinks he said. It may have just been guttural grunts. A hot shower and hotter coffee, that’s all he asks for before he has to deal with anything or anyone.

“And good morning to you.” The shower door swings open, with a release of more steam, and a naked, sopping wet, soapy detective peers out at him. Sonny dares to grin at Rafael’s blurry scowl, proof he is brave or stupid or both. “We can share. Conserve water. Save the whales or California river rafters or something.”

“What are you still doing here? Get out,” Rafael says or grunts. Sonny is usually smart enough to be gone before he wakes up, because he knows Rafael hates him before seven a.m. Rafael hates the whole world before seven ante fucking meridiem. “That hot water is mine.”

“I woke up late because I sleep with a god-damned creature of the night. Come on, I can scrub your back.”

“Hah. You just want to scrub my ass.” Rafael strips off his briefs and steps into the shower, and Sonny is all smiles, until Rafael tries to shove him out the door. Sonny just laughs. Laughing at six in the morning will be punishable by public flogging at the crack of noon, a civilized hour.

“OK, OK, just let me rinse off,” Sonny protests as Rafael starts crowding him toward the door, but Sonny is slippery and skinny and more awake and disgustingly younger than him and has the annoying ability of being able to wrap himself around him like a wet noodle.

“Stop mauling me, you pervert. I will bludgeon you and tell the jury it was justifiable homicide and a fucking public service to all of humanity, and they’ll believe me, because I’m that good.”

“Yes, you are.” Sonny snakes an arm over his shoulder and runs his fingers through Rafael’s chest hair. He can feel the shower invader’s amusement in the way Sonny rubs his nose against his neck and huffs in his ear. “Want a blowjob before you kill me?”

“No, I want to shower in peace and coffee. Get out and get me coffee, and you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Deal.”

Finally, he’s gone, and Rafael has all the hot water to himself. Bowing his head so his chin almost touches his collarbone, he lets the gloriously hot waterfall rain down his neck and back, savors the warmth as it seeps into his muscles. This is almost as good as being in bed. He could fall asleep like this. He has before.

“Coffee.” The annoying morning heathen is back too soon. With his favorite mug – the big kind – and a smug, overly pleased look on his face. That should have taken him at least ten minutes, not three, enough time for Rafael to get cleaned up and escape the bathroom. He must have started the coffee before the shower.

“Gimme.” There’s even a lid to keep the water out. Rafael is disgruntledly appeased at the offering. He breathes deeply and sighs at the glorious, dark fragrance. The first swallow is mystical, transformative, a conversion, sending a fiery, caffeine-loaded glow down his neck and into his stomach. “Cheat,” he says, reduced to one-word grunts because coffee, he has coffee.

“Deal’s a deal.” Sonny crowds in with him again, closes the glass door, and kisses him, long and deep enough to get a second-hand buzz from Rafael’s cup of ambrosia, his drug, his love. Then he drops to his knees in front of him and kisses Rafael’s cock. His mouth is hot, his tongue hotter, like he already drank half the pot, and he better not have, because Rafael needs at least two cups to make it out the front door. 

“You failed to meet the terms of the deal. You’re still in my shower.” Rafael shivers and turns so the hot spray is against his back, and takes another drink, his free hand slipping over the hair plastered to Sonny’s head to his neck. The drink is smooth and warming, just a hint of sweet. Sleepy synapses start synapsing in his brain, electric sparks of goodness. Or maybe that’s Sonny’s mouth, getting him hard. Sonny sucks. He sucks very well.

“What’s in this?”

“Hmmmm,” Sonny hums on him, and pops free with another smug look. Made you ask. “WD-40, gunpowder, and cardamom.”

“WD-40? You’re trying to get me fat.”

“Mmmmm, maybe.” Sonny kisses his lower belly, rubs his early morning, peach fuzz stubble against the soft curve, then ducks his head to lick the length of his penis before taking him into his mouth again.

“I have cardamom?” Rafael muses as he watches Sonny work through half-closed, half-asleep eyes. One of the few charms of sunny morning maniacs: Morning wood is among their favorite food groups. But Sonny has woken him up now and Rafael will make him pay. He sets the mug on the shelf with the shampoo bottles where it will be safe and cups Sonny’s face in his hands. His fingers slide under the persistent cocksucker’s jawline, his thumbs glide along his cheeks, then he tilts Sonny’s chin back and fucks the mouthy fucker’s mouth. Sonny makes a small, choked sound in the back of his throat at the first rough thrusts that could be a protest or a moan. His wet, spiky eyelashes flutter but don’t part as he works to control his breathing, his cheeks flushing even more. Fingers rake Rafael’s hips, then grope and squeeze his ass, and Sonny surges against him, chest pressed against Rafael’s legs. Those always-fidgety hands of his are everywhere, wet fingertips fluttering and teasing against his asshole, palm cupping his balls, blunt fingernails scoring his thighs. 

Too sleepy and late and horny to draw this out, when the need gets to be too much, Rafael gives in to it. And Sonny did ask for it, pester him, and bribe him with coffee. With one last plunge, he blows his load in Sonny’s mouth, then jerks himself free to get the last spurt on his lips and chin and chest. Sonny is still wrapped around his legs, and he doesn’t even try to catch his breath before he’s going at Rafael again, one more lick, one more kiss, more and more and more.

“I suppose I won’t have you flogged. Today,” Rafael tells him when he finally comes up for air. Sonny looks even more smug when he rises from his knees and presses against him under the downpour.

“Oh? I have something you can flog,” Sonny licks his lips and wiggles his eyebrows, then curls an arm over Rafael’s shoulder. In case he didn’t get the hint, Sonny grinds his hard-on against his belly. Until Rafael realizes, too late, that it’s just a distraction, that Sonny has got his cup of coffee and is throwing it all back like it’s a beer.

Rafael grabs the mug away from him, but it’s all gone. “I’ve changed my mind. Flogged, held in contempt, and sleeping at your own place for a week.”

Sonny chuckles in his ear, and his voice is raspy because he is still a little out of breath. He draws Rafael’s hand down to his erection while nuzzling at him. “I can get you more,” he says. “Quid pro coffee, counselor?”

This is what mornings reduce him to. Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba, turning tricks to get his coffee fix. No New York City jury would convict him. The burnt black swill available at the courthouse could be considered a crime.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a really good cup of coffee at this new cafe that's too far from my office and I really want to go back but there's never any time. Anyway, good coffee. And I wrote this. Always for my cupcake.


End file.
